


Pick your own pumpkins (at your own risk)

by Catharrington



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, First Date, First Kiss, Hawkins Autum festival, Love Confessions, M/M, Seasonal, Small Towns, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, monster hunting, monsters from the upside down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catharrington/pseuds/Catharrington
Summary: It’s the end half of November. Billy’s been in Indiana for spare change over a month. Feels like an eternity to him, but he’s always been slightly dramatic.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88
Collections: Harringrove Halloween Carnival





	Pick your own pumpkins (at your own risk)

There’s rain outside, fat drops pelting the sides of the Camaro with fast rhythm. Billy’s music is turned down enough to get drowned out by the noise. There’s a soft sort of quiet in the air as Steve passes the slender shaft of the joint back across the center console. 

Billy takes it, pinches it between his finger, and takes a long drag. Doesn’t think about how he’s touching lips right where King Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington just had his own. Doesn’t think about the way the smoke clouds around the interior of the Camaro until it’s rain cloud thick inside. Cloudy enough to block out the forest they’ve parked in. Cloudy enough to lull them into a false sense of security. 

“Go with me?” Steve asks out of no where. 

Then Billy vaguely remembers their conversation from a minute ago, while those skinny pale fingers of Steve’s worked the rolling paper into their joint, Billy watched out the corner of his eye as Steve licked up and down to seal it. He had thrown out some lame idea Billy shot down. He half didn’t remember it, too distracted. 

“Refresh my memory of this shit, Harrington?” Billy asks, passing the joint back. 

Steve takes it with a smile. He takes a long breath, filling his lungs, then keeps it there as he mutters out, “Hawkins Autum Festival.”

“Ah,” Billy exhales as Steve is, watching the smoke roll, trying to focus on what this festival was again and not those lips in a perfect circle. “Nah, I ain’t going to some hillbilly shit like that.”

Steve passes back, his face turned up in a smirk. Like he knows something. Billy blushes as he pinches the paper to take a hard draw. Hopefully the smoke will hide it. 

“Come on, man,“ Steve begs, “it sounds lame but I promise it’s actually fun, for a small town, I guess.” 

Billy shakes his head, pulls another hit because he’s a bastard. 

“Fuck, uh,“ Steve pinches his brow and it’s adorable. He starts listing off with his fingers as he talks, “it’s full of food, easy to snag cups of beer, rides that don’t suck for the most part, and those freaky carnival games you can win prizes at.”

“Carnival games?” Billy chuckles low in his chest, “you gonna win me a teddy bear, Sweetheart?”

Steve just laughs, too high for the insult to sink in. Too high to notice the longing in Billy’s voice as he lets out the sweet nickname he didn’t mean to say. “Sure, I mean I’ve won shit for Nancy a bunch. Those games are easy.”

Billy is on his third drag. If Steve wanted it back he hasn’t asked or even motioned for the pass. He just keeps grinning with that dopey smile on his face. His fluffy hair messy in the humidity of the smoke cloud, and his big brown eyes glistened wet and bigger if that’s even possible. Billy sucked at the end of the joint hard, mean, trying to get so high he doesn’t notice shit like that. 

How much Steve Harrington takes his breath away. 

The last of the weed sizzles through the paper and burns Billy’s fingertips. He curses, drops the joint on his thigh in shock. He scrambles to pick it up before throwing the thing into the ashtray of the Camaro. 

Billy watches the last bit of paper uncurl from where it was plastered with Steve’s spit. Tries not to feel the way Steve’s burning holes into the side of his head. 

“I ain’t Nancy Wheeler,” Billy grumbles. 

“Didn’t mean you were,” Steve says quickly. 

“I don’t want some shitty teddy bear I’m just gonna chuck in the trash.”

“They have other stuff than bears, man, they have like jewelry or goldfish in a bag.” Steve snaps his fingers, pointing them towards Billy with a wider prettier grin growing on his face. “That’s it, I’m gonna win you a fish so you can’t throw it away, then you’ll have a pet that you can love and you won’t be so grumpy.”

Billy rolls his eyes, rolls his whole head as he settles back into the seat. Breathing through his nose to keep his heart from jackrabbiting away. “You can flush a fish,” he jabs just to hear what Steve will say. 

“No fucking way!” Steve shoves his shoulder once. It’s light, not mean, just enough to make Billy sore with the touch of his hand as it lightly curls around Billy’s denim clad bicep and pushes. 

Then it’s gone, just as fast, and Steve’s laughing. “You’re so not allowed to flush the fish, okay! Frodo is a good fish. And he was a gift, so like hello, super rude.”

“Frodo?” Billy picks up. 

“Oh yeah, I named the fish Frodo. He’s gonna be small and I figure he’s traveled a long while so it’s perfect,” at least Steve has the good sense to blush as he explains it. His hands moving around in a circle before settling on pushing through his hair. Pulling the strands left and right, making it more messy, making him perfect looking. 

Billy rips his attention away. Jabs the keys into the Camaro and starts her up with a loud purr. “That’s it, I’m taking you back home. You’ve gone full nerd on me.”

Steve just laughs, tilting his head back with the motion. Billy watches from the side of his eye for a moment. Thinking he’s so far gone, he would literally do anything for this boy. 

And that’s how Billy finds himself walking though the Hawkins Autum Festival. Leaves crunching under his boots as he walked down the middle of the closed off streets. 

The traffic of cars and shoppers on the main drag of the small town had been replaced almost over night with a bustling marketplace of fold out trucks. Some trucks selling drinks, hot apple cider and home made root beer out of huge mugs from inside the canvas of a portable tent. Mostly they were food trucks painted with eye-catching cursive script advertising their specials. Photos of the food plastered to huge wooden signs faded and cracking with time, but no one seemed to notice. There were already lines at almost every stall. Children running circles around their parents feet as they waited for candy apples freshly dipped. 

Billy rolled his eyes, stuffed his hands deep into his Levi’s denim jacket pockets, and watched Steve’s head of hair as it bobbed in front of him. 

“Here it is, hell yeah,” Steve finally stopped leading the charge to stop and gasp out. Billy was hopeful he had seen something actually interesting, maybe a fight had broken out or maybe a ghoul had risen up to terrorize them. Billy stoped behind him to see Steve had stopped at a creaky old truck, hissing with smoke from cooking oil, and colored a faded, sickly looking yellow that could be half paint and half age. 

“Check it out,” he motioned a hand. Billy turned back towards the street then looked again, still the same shitty place as before. 

“What am I checking, Harrington? ‘Food poisoning‘ the express way?” Billy snarked. 

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, yet with how annoyed he looked a smile danced over his pretty lips. “Super funny, man,” he huffed. “No- it’s actually the best funnel cakes in Indiana.” 

“Yeah?” Billy asked, his throat going tight with how happy Steve looked. 

Steve pursed his lips and blew, like of course this truck was the best in the state. Like of course he knew what he was talking about. 

“We have to get one!” He started walking towards the line. 

Billy was slow to follow, didn’t want to be caught dead in compliance to this whole affair. But Steve watched him over his shoulder. Jogged back to where Billy was taking root on the street and pulled him around the slack in his jacket sleeve. Lead him not mean, not roughly, but forcefully into the line. 

The whole time he was smiling ear to ear. His cheeks squished and folded up so fucking cute. Steve’s eyes reflected all the glass bulbs flickering rainbow lights lined up in a row above them. Sparkling across those chocolate browns in a way Billy had never seen. Never readied himself for. 

He swallowed hard, looked around the place in a stupid attempt to get his head clear. He couldn’t really do that with Steve’s fingers still clutching at the slack on his jacket. 

Billy thought for a moment he should already have thrown him off, shrug out of the hold, kept his aura of ‘I don’t give a fuck‘ intact; but he didn’t have long before the line moved forwards. And Steves hand was dropping to pull money out his back pocket and order one large funnel cake, please. 

They walked away from the trucks lining the streets, Steve’s treat a teetering paper plate stacked much too large for the thin thing to hold. Much too large for the small handful of napkins he grabbed. 

Billy was happy to follow him away from the growing crowds around the food. Off towards the larger parking lots that have been tied off for the rides. Huge things every color you could imagine that twist and turn with use, creaking as if they could fall apart any time. 

Steve didn’t wait a second for his cake to cool down before he ripped off a piece to shove into his mouth. He moaned around the bite, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. Billy had to laugh to keep from gawking. 

“It’s that good, Harrington?” He bit out though forced laugher. 

Steve ripped another piece, a long one near the edge that curled round and round. Golden and crispy from the oil, glossy with it, and melting powdered sugar clinging on for life. Steve popped it between his lips, pursing them as he chewed. 

“So good,” Steve talked with his mouth full. Billy found it more cute than gross. “Wanna take a bite, man?” Steve asks, holding the plate out. 

Billy does want to take a bite. The sugar looks good snow capped over the crispy golden batter. And Steve’s offer, the fact that he bought the food and so readily offers it. Maybe his favorite food he’s been having wet dreams about all year long. Holding it out with a dopey grin on his handsome face. Interrupted not in the least by the way he pokes his finger into his mouth to suck the sticky sugar off the tip. 

“Nah, that’s all for you, Pretty boy,” Billy drawls the words out. Searching around them instead of creeping Steve’s lips more. 

There’s a family walking past them, two parents holding their children’s hands as they pick out what ride to waste money on next. Billy’s got his hands in his pockets again. Balling them into fists as he tries not to get too upset. 

He’s surrounded by people he cannot have, things he cannot touch, and it hurts more than he prepared himself for. Billy spent the day dreading embarrassment, not this yearning hunger deep inside his stomach. Wasn’t ready for the stinging in his chest, the burning in his eyes. Not from allergies or the crumbled leaves floating around. Or the stench of burning gasoline or deep fried foods. 

A burning all his own threatening to spill out from his lashes every time he watches Steve take a bite of his funnel cake. 

“Hey,” Steve stops them. His hand again reaching up to curl around Billy’s jacket. His forearm that’s taught and flexing with the effort to keep it together. “Are you okay, Billy? What’s going on?”

And that hurts the worst, of any bad smell or bad memory, is that Steve is Steve. And Billy can’t handle the way his heart jumps at the touch.   
How he turns obediently towards Steve, how eager he is to have any scrap. 

Over Steve’s shoulder, Billy’s eyes catch a bright orange sign. The same wooden as the food trucks, but a permanent fixture in Hawkins. A tall sign decorated orange and green and pointing backwards towards a farm. ‘Pick your own pumpkins!’ It reads, a joyful smile carved into the stack of jack’o lanterns sitting under the hand painted block letters. 

His face curls in a Cheshire grin. Steve keeps searching his face, worry making his pretty eyes squint, before he finally turns to follow where Billy’s looking. 

“What?” He asks. 

Billy huffs, gesturing towards the dark and empty field with an obvious flourish. The farm is long closed. Not a part of the nights festivities all lit up with colored glass and flood lights. The farmer who owns the joint is likely out with his cute family, riding rides and buying overpriced food, not staying behind to keep an eye on his stock. Not from the good, god fearing children of Hawkins. 

Billy wasn’t a good, god fearing child of Hawkins. 

“Ever bash a pumpkin’s fuckin’ brains in?” He says darkly, a campy mean to his voice. 

Steve chuckles out the side of his mouth. Stuffing his face with more funnel cake before replying. “Everyone has stomped on pumpkins, dude. Get real.”

“Nah, not like how you sheltered house cats stomp on the principal’s carved pumpkins to act tough. You ever smash one with guts?” He takes his hands out of his pockets and wring his fingers together. Squeezing juice from pulp. “Ever make something bleed?” 

Steve took a second to watch him. Eyeing him up and down the carnivorous look on his face. Then Steve flicked his eyes over to the pumpkin patch. Plucked another piece of funnel cake off to chew.

“Don’t wanna get your glass slippers cracked, princess?” Billy prods. He steps the couple inches between them to knock his shoulder into Steve’s. The way the boys breath hitches, how he scrambles onto his stupid funnel cake so he doesn’t drop it; infuriates Billy. 

“Asshole,” Steve hisses, griping his plate. His hair messy as he whips his head to watch Billy. 

And the others walking off. Billy’s taking long strides towards the ground milled dark brown and rich in soil. Littered with crawling green vines hopping from the tips of swollen pumpkins. Leaves and ivy clinging to the shafts like morning dew. Everything was dark, though, the lights of the fair barely hitting over here. Mostly the briefest glances illuminating the place in colors with flashes from the rides a stones throw away. 

Steve followed, Billy could hear his feet crunching behind him. 

The vines snapped as he stepped over them with his thick boots. Black leather almost disappearing in the darkness of the black soil. The vines snapped under his foot almost satisfyingly, sent shivers up and down his spine. 

He found one pumpkin that was a perfectly good size. One that any American family would be happy to take home and sit in a little circle as they hollowed it out to decorate a face. The young boy of the family coloring with one of his markers where he wants the eyes and nose and mouth, before his father smiling and so damn proud of him carves the lines with their sharpest butcher knife. 

Billy lifted his boot as high as he could and brought it down on the pumpkin. It’s skin broke open instantly. Bursting from the inside out it’s pulpy guts and chunky seeds, arching over the soil. Clinging to Billy’s boot messy and perfect. 

“Oh, ew,” Steve commented from the side. His voice light with laugher. Billy spun around to see him laughing. A real laugh, throwing his stupid fluffy hair back and barely hanging onto his half empty plate. 

Billy bristled with attention. Preening under Steve’s laugher in a way that made his anger swirl under his heated skin as confidence. “Your turn, Harrington.” He whispered. 

The farm was quiet. Steve’s laughter was loud, but it died down to jingling giggles quickly. Before it was gone to shallow jumpy breaths. 

“No, man, I— it’s not my style.” Steve shrugged. 

“Gonna hurt yourself?” Billy started back in on the prodding before he could stop it. 

“Jeez, no— I just—,” Steve defended in short bursts. 

Billy took steps closer to Steve. His boot squishier now with pumpkin guts covering it. Making horrible noises as he crossed more vines, snapping them as he went. 

“You’re not making this whole Hawkins Autum snooze-fest sound appealing to me right now, ya’know?” Billy sneered. Rolling one of his hands in the air. Before pushing it against Steve’s shoulder.   
Steve glances down to Billy’s hand. His touch just the tips of his two fingers. A cruel mocking of the way Steve pressed his own fingers into Billy’s chest at the Byers’ house. 

That wasn’t long ago; not long enough to forget the touch. Or the fight. Billy felt drunk with the memory. For all the apologizing he had done, all the groveling and bribery to Max and Lucas to make up for his actions. All his weed freely given to Steve to help soothe the aches he left over his pretty face. Billy still thinks sometimes he doesn’t regret it. He was able to touch Steve, if only briefly with his fists, yet still he was able to touch. 

This is the most he’s gotten since then. Not Steve’s touchy feely grabs, or gentle smiles thrown over his shoulder, no. 

This was Billy pressing his fingers into Steve’s chest. Then spreading his fingers out to push into the fabric of Steve’s expensive rich boy sweater. Flex the tip just enough to feel how warm the knit is from his body heat. 

Steve’s confidence faltered at that. His mouth opening and closing, trying to figure out what to say. 

“It’s not very romantic is all, Bill,” Steve whispered.   
Recoiling from his own words, Steve took a step backwards to get his body off Billy’s hand. He manages only to stumble and fall, twisting his long legs around the vines under foot, his feet disappear under him as he drops to the ground with a grunt. 

Billy stays standing where he left him. His hand out stretched where it was touching Steve Harrington. His body rigid as it replayed over and over the words he just coaxed out of Steve Harrington. His eyes searching over the big, brown glossy glare aimed at him from the soil one Steve Harrington was sprawled out on. 

His funnel cake safely cradled in the middle of his stomach. Protected from the fall. 

“What the hell?” Billy grinds out the words between clenched teeth. 

Steve huffs out air, blowing a strand of hair off his forehead. As if he was exasperated by the situation more than Billy was. “You heard me. Smashing pumpkins? It’s just... not very romantic, Bill. And I wanted this night to be something special and cheesy—,”

“I repeat,” Billy curled his open hand into a finger and pointed it, “what the hell?” 

“Our first date,” Steve says, “I wanted it to be special.” 

And now he starts to chew on his bottom lip. His perfectly pink rounded lips Billy’s dreamed about, tapping pencil erasers the same shade of pink against, now pulled into a nervous chew. All under his eyes. All waiting for his reply. 

Billy doesn’t know what’s breaking apart and spreading a warmth under his skin. It feels like the sugar melting into the funnel cakes warmth. In the back of his throat he can taste the spiced cider they were selling that wafted into the air, dripping down his throat to settle into his stomach. Bursting from the inside out with its scent, it’s heat, it’s comfort. 

“Our first date,” he repeats like an idiot. 

Steve nods. Gives a weak smile, a dopey one that looks just so pretty on his face. Billy knows he’s so far gone. His cheeks are blushing candy apple red just from the sight of his big smile. 

Billy drops down to the ground in front of Steve. His knees making a thick splashing noise into the soil. He crawls, his hands getting dirty but he can’t seem to care, hand over hand under he’s climbing Steve’s body still laid out on the ground. 

He climbs those long legs that look just perfect in Hawkins physical education shorts. And he climbs that trim waist then up until he’s above Steve’s shoulders curved with muscle, bracing himself up on his elbows to hover. Looking down at how Steve’s let his hair get pressed into the soil. How he’s laid down, watching expectantly up at Billy. 

Those brown eyes darker than Billy’s ever seen. Molten with a dark chocolate as they move from his eyes before flicking down to his lips. 

Billy brings one hand up, one big, muddy, calloused hand, and presses it as softly as he can against Steve’s cheek. He cups his face. His thumb swiping absentmindedly over the curve. But in a way not absentmindedly, because Billy’s thought of this every day since he moved to this small town. Every day he jabs and leers and snarls and bites and hits at Steve’s direction, he’s thinking about this. 

It’s the end half of November. Billy’s been in Indiana for spare change over a month. Feels like an eternity to him, but he’s always been slightly dramatic. 

Billy leans down and captures Steve’s lips in a soft kiss. His eyes flutter closed, savoring the way Steve’s breath does a small gasping noise when their lips meet. How his head tilts to the side to let Billy slide their mouths together perfectly. 

One of Steve’s hands move up his chest. His palm heavy across his shirt under his jacket then Steve’s wrapping his long fingers around the back of Billy’s neck. Twisting them into his hair. Pulling Billy down onto him even more. 

He lets out a desperate whine, Billy wishes it was from Steve but he knows he is the one who lets it out. He parts his lips to suck in a wet breath before he kisses Steve again. Long, desperate, focusing on the way he tastes on his lips rather than the force in his chest trying to make him cry. 

When they break apart for air, they stay close. Letting their exhales warm up each other’s faces in the chilly night. Steve’s got a smug grin on his face. Kiss swollen lips. Billy’s sure it’s the prettiest he’s ever looked. He can’t stop looking. 

“You taste like powdered sugar,” Billy muses, mumbles out the words almost to himself. He isn’t quite sure why he does it. 

Steve laughs, his head tilting backwards more in the soil, and simply laughs. 

Billy nuzzles his nose into Steve’s jaw. Can feel the way his skin radiates with the noise. 

“I was super surprised you actually wanted to come here,” Steve says, his throat bobbing. “I thought you had picked up on the whole—,” he lets out a breathy exhale, “—crush thing. And you were just humoring me?” 

Billy shook his head. Steve’s hand still in his hair moved along with him. “Didn’t pick up shit, pretty boy. I only came because I thought it would make you... shut up.” The word ‘happy’ died on the way out. The admittance of it tasted too sour on his sugary sweet lips. 

Steve snorted out another laugh. “Sure!” He huffed. “Whatever! I’m still glad you did, Bill.” 

“Yeah, me too.”

They both take a second to watch the other, their faces just barely picking up the flashing lights of the carnival rides not too far away. Dirt is smeared across Steve’s cheek in the shape of Billy’s hand. He smiles at that. At his hands leaving marks.   
He leans down to catch Steve’s lips in another kiss, when he starts to hear a noise growing under them. A scratching, pulling noise that seems to crawl. 

Steve jolts under him, his body tensing up, and he looks down between their bodies. 

Any thing he was going to say with those pretty parted lips are cut short but a violent yank. Steve sides downwards in the soil, going between Billy’s legs with jerky pulls at first. Billy swings over to land on his ass. Reaching out towards Steve, when he finally gets a good look. The pumpkin vines that he had tripped over, that he had broken and crushed, where growing around his legs. Twisting almost up to his knees with thick, festering lengths. They were unlike the green vines of the pumpkins thought, Billy squinted, tightening his hands around one close to him, and it felt like corpse flesh. 

Then they tighten, and yank, dragging Steve across the damp soil. 

“Billy!” He yells out, scrambling for purchase. His hands spinning wild in the air, Billy’s hands grip around Steve’s forearms, snatching them out of the air and holding on. Trying to be stronger than the vines as they pull. 

“I’ve got you! Hold on, Steve!” Billy says too quick too panicked, his hands trying to keep their grip on Steve’s arms. But the soil below them is wet. He can’t keep a good grip. 

Steve’s arms slide right out from between his fingers. He gets yanked away in a flurry of screams and fluffy brown hair. 

Billy shoots to his feet, scrambling to get them under his shivering body, and sprints after Steve. His boots pounding hard into the ground. His elbows pumping to keep up. As he watches the blackened vines drag Steve across the rows of the farm farther into the darkness. 

Ahead of them the ground seemed to open up. An even darker, blacker, void in the earth where the vines where growing from. They dragged Steve closer. 

His hands dug into the ground in a panic, pulling up leaves and pumpkins from the ground as he went. 

Billy caught up to him, his neck bulging with the effort to keep breathing, as he rushed around Steve to reach for the vines themselves. He gripped one, holding it tightly, while he lifted his leg to bring down his boot in a stomp. 

The vines sputtered— then stopped. Steve skidded to a hault just as quickly as he had started being dragged away. 

Billy lifted up his boot and slammed it down again, and again, severing the flesh-like vines in half one by one. They writhed on the soil, twisting around while bleeding a black mucus Billy was sure was going to stain the bottoms of his jeans. 

Steve rolled over on his ass, his eyes wide with fear as he reached down to unwind the severed vines from his legs. Throwing them off into the field at random just to get them off his legs. They seemed to whimper with each throw. Making noise like an injured animal. 

Steve has seen these vines before, Billy realized. His eyes wide with a raw fear. 

He got the last one off from around his leg and threw it with anger. Hauling himself up on his arms to scoot backwards, giving himself even more distance. 

“What...,” Billy started to say. His voice gravel and breathy with the effort he used to run. He cut his words off to instead lean forward on his knees. Panting heavy, his mouth open. He turned to look at Steve. 

He was the most disheveled he had ever seen, hair spray traded for chunks of dirt, and his jacket twisted up around his shoulders, ripped down the collar to show off his neck flushed bright red. 

Billy stood up his full height. But his hands on his hips and took a second to catch his breath before he spoke. “If we are going to do this dating thing, we’re going to have to be a little more fucking honest with each other!” 

Steve looked at him dumbly. Letting Billy’s angry words swirl into up the Autum night. 

“So you’re saying yes to this being our first date?” Steve asks, his face melting with a smile. Even covered in soil, his hair poking up like a porcupine, he was still so damn cute. 

“I know you know about this, Steve!” Billy insisted, his muscles bulging with how he dug his own fingertips into the top of his jeans, “I know this kinda freaky alien shit went down after Halloween! Tell me everything. Or I’m not going to kiss you again!” 

Steve bit into his cheek to stop his smile. Billy felt like he couldn’t stop kissing Steve now that he got a taste, but it makes a good threat. 

“Okay, yeah, sure, don’t gotta be so cruel,” Steve pursed his lips. 

Billy walked up towards him. Looking down at Steve again, his heart fluttering just as quickly as it had been while running. He hates himself a little for it, loves the idea of being on a date with Steve Harrington more than anything. Even if the date is saving his life from— from monster tentacles growing out a sink hole in a pumpkin field. 

“I’ll tell you, Bill.” Steve rolled his head back on his shoulders. Glancing up at Billy from under his eyelashes. “But first I want to get another funnel cake?” 

Billy grumbles, sighs out and gives Steve’s little coy grin a death stare. But he holds his hand out. Let’s Steve wrap his own around it to lift himself up off the ground. 

“You’re a fucking terror,” Billy growls. 

Steve laughs, Billy’s favorite noise on the whole planet, and pushes his nose into Billy’s own.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!!


End file.
